


Mr. Hale and the Lumberjack

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek New Year's Extravaganza [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Angst, Asshole Derek, Bullying, Executive Derek Hale, Humans, IT Technician Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Power Imbalance, Smart Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Derek,” Stiles whined, draping himself across Erica’s desk. She patted his back comfortingly. “Derek, why doesn’t the lumberjack like me? What can I do to change that?”“If you’ve opened your mouth around him, that explains everything,” Derek told him coldly. “Maybe try shutting up for once. And standing still. Not breathing would help your cause, too.”Stiles let out a wail of despair, and everyone quickly moved in to comfort him. Derek scowled, annoyed, and clapped his hands loudly.“Enough. Back to work. Stiles, get the fuck out of my department.”“Language,” Stiles chided, pointing one finger at him while still draped across the desk.(SNYE - January 3rd - Humans)





	Mr. Hale and the Lumberjack

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Derek Hale rubbed at his temples in annoyance while standing behind his desk, trying to ignore the chatter floating up from the floor and reminding himself that murder was still considered a crime and he was too pretty for jail.

He swore that this was happening to him on purpose. It was either sabotage or he had really pissed someone off upstairs, because this was getting ridiculous at this point. He had work to do, and he couldn’t afford to stand there like a fucking lump waiting for his computer to get fixed.

“Is this going to take much longer?” he asked irately, interrupting the other’s inane chatter. “I have a lot of work to do, along with two meetings and a client presentation later.”

“I can only do so much, dude,” the IT guy under the desk said.

“Don’t call me dude, this is an office, not high school,” he snapped.

Why was it whenever he had problems with anything in his office, they sent this teenager up to help him? He knew they were ‘in the know’ with technology, but he was getting tired of a fucking twelve year old working on his shit.

How had he even gotten hired anyway? Shouldn’t he be at _least_  old enough to drink before working in a respectable place like this?

It was like those rides at amusement parks. ‘You must be at least this tall to ride.’ You must be at least this old to work here. He wasn’t asking much, just an actual adult helping him with his shit.

“So Derek, how was your weekend?” the guy under the desk asked. “Do anything fun?”

“It’s Mr. Hale,” he snapped, getting more annoyed by the second. “And my weekend plans are none of your business.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the cave this morning,” the other teased. He banged something loudly, let out an exclamation of pain, and Derek’s screen turned back on. “I think I figured out the problem,” he said, crawling out from under the desk. “Looks like your outlet’s a little loose. I’ll bring up a power-bar to plug into somewhere else in your office as a temporary solution, but we’re gonna need to get that fixed.”

“Then get it fixed. Now get out, I’m busy.” Derek pushed himself past the IT guy and sat down, pulling his chair closer to the desk to get back to work.

“You’re such a ray of sunshine, Derek.” The guy waved over his shoulder and sauntered out, calling a greeting to Derek’s secretary, who called one back.

Derek was going to fire her if she encouraged the moron.

“Stiles, go _away_ ,” Derek barked. “Leave my staff to their work!”

“You’re no fun,” Stiles called back with a grin, but he kept walking down the corridor towards the elevator, and Derek could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, the moron was gone. He didn’t have time for his incessant yapping.

It was hard enough keeping the place running on a good day, let alone right now with the high volumes, year end and budgets due. He was starting to feel the pressure and wished half of his staff weren’t incompetent so he could actually delegate more.

In their defence, they weren’t so much incompetent as Derek was untrusting. There were some people he was sure could do some of the things he had in excess but he just didn’t trust them to do it right and he didn’t need to be dealing with complaints on the regular so it was easier to just do it himself.

He turned back to his computer, beginning to re-open all of his documents when his secretary appeared in the doorway.

“Would it kill you to be nice to people?” Erica Reyes asked.

“Probably,” he said, scowling at his word program since it hadn’t saved a backup of the item he’d had open when his computer had crashed.

“You’re never gonna make any friends, you know.” Erica came further into the office and fell into one of the seats across from him, crossing her legs and staring at him pointedly.

“I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to work and do my job.”

“And I’m sure you’ll look fondly back on these times of your life when you’re ninety and alone with literally no one left to attend your funeral because no one will know who you are.”

Derek’s gaze rose to glare at her. “Did you need something, Erica?”

“Actually, no. But what I _am_  trying to do is get you to stop chasing away Stiles every time he comes upstairs. You realize he’s the only person who talks to you willingly in this place, right?”

“You talk to me,” Derek reminded her.

“I said ‘willingly,’ Derek, pay attention.”

He looked over at her. “Get out of my office.”

Erica rolled her eyes in exaggeration and stood, smoothing out her skirt before turning to exit the office.

Derek shook his head, annoyed that Erica was insinuating that he had no friends. He had friends! Many friends! They were all just back home, was all. He was focussing on his career right now!

Still smarting from Erica’s comment and trying not to let it show, he turned to look at the photo on the edge of his desk, shifting it slightly so it was angled more in his direction. It was his favourite photo of him and his family from back home.

He’d been maybe twenty-two, and it had been right before Cora’s first year of university. They’d all gone camping out in the woods a few counties over, and it had probably been the _worst_  campout they had ever gone through, but somehow, he’d left it with only memories.

He also liked the picture because Laura teased him about looking like a serial killer. His beard had been long and unkempt, jeans torn and dirty, and he had a red and black plaid shirt. There was an axe thrown over one shoulder, a big grin on his face, and a wild look in his eye from lack of sleep.

All in all, he definitely looked like some crazy hillbilly murderer. Not that Laura looked any better with her hair a mess, her jeans caked in dirt from knee to ankle, a red stain on her shirt from where their dad had accidentally thrown aside a part of their dinner’s innards and leeches on her arm.

She hadn’t noticed and had thoroughly freaked out once she realized why the gross slimy leaf wouldn’t come off her arm.

Derek had loved that.

Really, the only one who looked put together was his mother. She looked just as perfect as she always did, a small smile teasing the corners of her lips with her hair perfectly curled and her outfit on point. Derek didn’t know how she did it, and even Cora and Laura insisted she was some kind of magician because no one should look that good after two weeks in the woods, but she did.

She always looked good.

Realizing he’d gotten distracted staring at a picture of his family, Derek went back to typing and tried not to lose his shit when his computer crashed again a few minutes later.

It was a near miss.

* * *

Derek tugged hard at the piece of paper, making a face as it moved inch by inch and ignoring Erica standing in the doorway, judging him.

“You’re gonna rip it.”

“I’m not gonna rip it,” Derek bit out through clenched teeth, holding his breath and praying for the paper to just _not rip_.

“I’m calling IT.”

“A jammed printer is not in IT’s jurisdiction,” Derek snapped, pulling harder at the piece of paper. “Don’t call IT.”

“Yeah, hi Stiles!”

Derek’s head whipped towards his open office door and he glared angrily, despite Erica being around the corner and unable to see him.

“Mmhm. His printer is jammed. He’s got a really important client file he was trying to photocopy and it got eaten. He’d trying to pull it out right now.” A pause, and when she spoke again, she raised her voice, evidently speaking to him. “Stiles says you’re gonna rip it and to stop, he’ll be right up.”

“I don’t need his help!” Derek insisted, trying to shimmy the page from side to side. “I am perfectly capable of solving my own problems, thank you!”

“Yeah, you better hurry,” Erica said quietly, but not low enough for Derek to miss it.

He ignored her remark entirely and just kept tugging, holding his breath and freezing at the slight ripping sound he heard.

He really, really, _really_  couldn’t have this document ruined, it would look bad for the company, but he didn’t know what else to do! It was fucking stuck and everything he tried just made things worse! Not that pulling at it and crinkling the edges wasn’t bad, but it was better than ripped or ink-splattered.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Hands fell quickly on Derek’s where they held the paper and he hastily pulled them away, glaring at Stiles. “Dude, I thought you wanted to _not_  rip the paper. What are you doing?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Stiles bent down and lifted the flap for the edge of the scanner, making a sound at whatever he found in there.

“Yeah, looks like you jammed it real good. I can’t promise the document will be in pristine condition, but I can get it out without ripping it. Do you have a letter opener?”

Derek rolled his eyes and reached over to yank open his side drawer, almost knocking it into the back of Stiles’ head. He pulled out the letter opener and handed it to Stiles, who grunted a thanks and poked it into the small opening.

“How’s it lookin’, doc?” Erica asked, crossing her arms and leaning sideways against the doorframe.

“Too early to say,” Stiles responded. “But I’m hoping I can save this patient, Reyes.”

“I have so much faith in you, doc! You can do it!”

“What is the matter with you?” Derek barked at her. “Get back to work.”

“Um, I’m standing here waiting for your obscenely large document to print, and I can’t do anything until adobe stops timing out over the size of it, so...” She shrugged and stayed where she was, uncrossing her arms to inspect her nails. “So, Stiles, how’re things going with you and the hot lumberjack?”

“They’re not,” Stiles sighed, but Derek saw the back of his neck flush while he continued to dig around inside the flap of the printer. “Still working on it.”

“Stiles, seriously, forget him. If he can’t tell how amazing you are, that’s his problem.”

Stiles turned from his position at the printer, one hand still holding the flap open, the other with the letter opener wedged inside, and Derek’s eye twitched.

“But I really, really, really, really, _really_ , really like him. I mean, he cleans up so good, and he’s got the nicest eyes, and the best stubble, and God his _arms_.” Stiles bit down on his own left forearm. “Fuck, he’s just so—”

“Fascinating as your non-existent sex-life is,” Derek said dryly, “I have work that needs doing. You don’t get paid to socialize.”

“I mean, I kinda do,” Stiles said, turning to look at him before returning to what he was doing. “I’m in IT, we’re all social butterflies down there.”

“How tragic for the third floor,” Derek drawled.

“Hey, everyone loves us, okay? I mean, most of the time. Until something isn’t working and then it’s all, ‘ugh, IT, they’re so useless, what do we pay them for?’ and I have to awkwardly remind everyone that without us being here, most of you would be pretty much screwed.”

“You can’t even figure out how to get the document out of the scanner,” Derek snapped.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t put it into the feeder with a _staple_  in it, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

Derek was about to retort, but paused when he realized that he was fairly certain he _did_ , in fact, put the document in the feeder with a staple in it. He’d been distracted! Erica had been bemoaning the lack of a raise for the past ten minutes, and Derek was trying to decide on the best way to dispose of her body when he murdered her for being _annoying_.

Jury was still out, but he was surprised to learn he would make a decent serial killer.

“Almost—aha!”

The document came free, a little worse for wear, but in one piece and Stiles beamed up at Derek, holding it out to him. Derek snatched it from him and tried to smooth it out on the desk, scowling. It wasn’t perfect, but it also hadn’t _arrived_  perfect. Just in good condition. This was better than nothing.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles sing-songed behind him.

“Stop being a child and get out,” Derek snapped, taking a seat in his chair and opening another drawer to find a file folder. Maybe he could put a few books on top of the document to smooth it out a little more.

“Ignore him, he just needs to get laid,” Erica loud-whispered.

Derek didn’t deem that worthy of a response, or reaction, so he just pulled out a file folder and slipped the document inside while Stiles sighed in defeat and headed out of the office.

“Seriously though,” Erica said when they shut the office door, but they were right outside so he still heard every word. “You’ve been after the lumberjack for over a year now. Shouldn’t you give up?”

“No,” Stiles whined. “He doesn’t know I exist yet, but I think I’m wearing him down. Perseverance, Erica! And a positive attitude!”

“Whatever you say. Do you even know his name?”

Stiles sputtered—attractively, Derek was sure—and said, “What? Of course I know his name!”

“Oh my God! Stiles!” Erica sounded like she’d slapped him. “How can you not know his name?! What if he goes all _The Hills Have Eyes_  on you?!”

“Okay first off, I _do_  know his name, excuse you. Second, what is this, 2006?” Stiles asked. “And third, those were mutants, not lumberjacks. Lumberjacks aren’t going to filet my skin from my bones and serve it on toast.”

“Stiles!” It sounded like she’d slapped him again. Derek wished she’d just knock him out so someone could come up and drag him away and his assistant would actually _get back to work_!

“What? I’m just saying my lumberjack is a respectable gentleman. Besides, he cleans up nice. Then again, the quiet, pretty ones are usually the ones to pull out sawed off shotguns and walk through the halls of their workplace. But! I’d be fine, I’m nice to everyone.”

“If I come in here with a shotgun, you’re the first one I’m going after so I can get some fucking work done!” Derek said loudly, glaring at his closed door.

It opened back up, Stiles popping his head through the gap. “You wouldn’t shoot me, who would fix all your technological problems?”

“I am sure there are more people employed in the IT Department,” Derek argued, not that he’d ever actually encountered anyone other than Stiles.

Shit, _was_  Stiles their entire IT Department?

No, that was ridiculous, they had over five-hundred people on staff here, one IT guy would be idiotic.

“None with my cheery disposition,” Stiles countered with a winning smile.

“Go. Away,” Derek enunciated, and Stiles just saluted him before shutting the door. He heard him _actually_  bidding Erica farewell, but they yelled plans down the corridor to one another and Derek now knew they were grabbing drinks after work the following Friday at the pub down the road with a few other people.

He wished he knew how to get Stiles to stay out of his space.

Derek had a very low threshold for stupidity.

Able to get back to work with Stiles gone, Derek managed to churn out an impressive 67 emails in the space of half an hour. His computer wasn’t acting up, for once, and when he checked on the paperwork he’d been pressing flat, it looked marginally better.

He actually felt pretty good about the day and when he reached for his coffee, he scowled when he found it empty.

“Erica,” he called loudly. She didn’t respond and he sighed, figuring she was at lunch. He didn’t usually ask her to get his coffee, but every now and then was nice. He always seemed to have a moment like that when she wasn’t at her desk.

Maybe she was psychic and planned it that way.

Getting to his feet, Derek grabbed his mug and headed down the corridor. He’d just turned the corner to head down another stretch where the small kitchen on this floor was located when he heard laughter and stopped abruptly with a scowl.

“Dude, it is _not_  my fault you forgot to lock your computer and someone turned the screen upside down,” Stiles insisted with a laugh, bent over someone’s computer and hitting a few keys on the keyboard. “We have lock-screens for a reason, don’t leave your computer open when you’re not here.”

“Noted,” the associate grumbled.

Derek debated turning around to go back to his office but he _refused_  to be scared away from coffee by that _moron_  so he started walking again and ducked into the kitchen. Setting the mug up beneath the Nespresso machine, he chose a pod and slapped it into place, starting the cycle and grabbing the cream out of the fridge along with two sugar packets from the dispenser.

The coffee was still gurgling away when someone appeared beside him, too close for comfort to be anyone but Stiles. The guy had no concept of personal space.

“You drink a lot of coffee,” he remarked.

“And?” Derek grabbed the mug when the machine stopped and ripped open the sugar, dumping the contents in and reaching for a stirstick. Throwing out the empty packets, he started stirring his drink while pouring in a bit of cream and then moved away from the counter to return it to the fridge.

“And nothing. Just an observation. I can’t drink coffee because of my ADHD. Tea’s okay though, and these new machines are great, you can make pretty much anything! Coffee, tea, hot chocolate—”

“Can you make a drink that will shut you up?” Derek asked, scowling at his drink and throwing out the stirstick. He picked up his mug and started back for his office, extremely annoyed when Stiles followed.

“I think my dad wishes that sometimes, too, but to date he’s found nothing. He always thought I’d be a pass-out drunk but apparently I’m the loud, crazy drunk so that didn’t work out for him. Do you drink?”

“You make me feel like I should start.”

Stiles just laughed, obviously not caring about the insult and just kept right on talking.

“Yeah, heard that before. I don’t think drinking is the answer to dealing with me. Scott always starts throwing punches when he’s drunk, which sucks for me because I tend to want to hug everyone. He gave me a shiner once and almost broke a few front teeth.”

Derek wanted to find this Scott guy and give him a medal.

“Hey, do you like movies?”

Why was Stiles inviting himself into his office? And sitting down across from him? And acting like Derek hadn’t made it _explicitly_  clear that he _didn’t want him there_?

“No.”

“What? Oh come on, everyone likes movies!”

“Well, not me, all right?” Derek snapped, lifting his gaze. “Now if you’ll _un_ -invite yourself from my office so I can get some work done, that’d be fucking terrific.”

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles whined.

“It’s Mr. Hale,” he reminded coldly.

“You can take a five minute brain break, you know,” Stiles insisted with a grin, ignoring Derek’s comment and slouching further in the chair he occupied. “Everyone’s entitled a brain break.”

“I don’t _need_  a brain break, I need you to leave so I can do my work. This is an office, not a party. If you’re done with what you came up here to do, get. Out.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes but he stood with a sigh and saluted Derek. He grinned at the scowl that earned him, wished him farewell, and then turned to exit the office.

Derek stood and went to shut his door, annoyed that Erica had just come back.

He was going to start demanding she warn him before going to lunch, because he was liable to kill Stiles if he ran into him unexpectedly.

Derek didn’t want to get blood on his expensive shoes.

* * *

Either he had angered some unknown technology God he wasn’t aware of, or someone had sabotaged his office so that virtually once a day something went wrong and he had to deal with Stiles.

It was like there was no one else employed by the IT Department in this place, because he always seemed to get him whenever he sent an email. Occasionally when he called he got someone else, but it was like emails from him were always flagged for Stiles.

Probably by request. Maybe Stiles was trying to drive him away. That, or Stiles was suicidal and he was waiting for Derek to snap and come into work with a sawed off shotgun, like they’d been discussing the week before.

He would _definitely_  be starting with Stiles, because there was no other explanation for why he was so fucking annoying aside from him legitimately _wanting_  Derek to go all _He Was a Quiet Man_  on him.

“Are you done yet?” Derek asked impatiently. “I have a meeting in five minutes.”

“You seem to have a lot of meetings,” Stiles said from under his desk.

“That’s what people in my position do,” Derek said dryly. “Go to meetings.”

“Sounds boring,” Stiles informed him, grunting in pain when he banged his head. He continued doing something for a few minutes and then Derek’s screen turned back on. “Is it back?”

“Yes, now get out, I need a file.”

“I’m not done down here, just sit and grab it.” Stiles turned to waggle his eyebrows at him. “Unless having me under the desk excites you.”

Derek pushed his chair in as far as he could, Stiles letting out an exclamation of pain, and Derek leaned over the back of his chair still on his feet, typing in his password and trying to get to his file while he crushed Stiles under the desk with his chair.

Getting what he needed printing behind him, he moved towards it, Stiles pushing the chair out and scrambling out from under the desk, shaking out his hand. Derek only felt marginally bad when he realized he’d rolled the chair over it, marks from the wheel clearly etched into the back of his hand.

“So, Derek,” Stiles said slowly.

“Mr. Hale,” Derek corrected for the millionth time. It had been two years, when was Stiles going to learn?

Probably never, since he likely assumed Derek would just give up trying to train him. Which he wouldn’t.

“A few of us are going for drinks on Friday.”

“I heard you and Erica yelling plans at one another last week, everyone is well aware that you’re going for drinks on Friday.” The printer’s whirring ceased and he snatched up the pages it had spat out, checking them quickly to make sure they were all there.

“Right. Well, I was thinking maybe you’d like to join us.” Stiles said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “We’re gonna play pool, and darts, order beer and nachos, the works. It’ll be fun.”

“I have better things to do with my weekend than waste it with underlings,” Derek said, walking to his door and pointedly staring at Stiles, waiting for him to get the hint.

He either didn’t, or did and didn’t care.

“Don’t you ever want to go out and do something fun with people?” Stiles asked with a frown.

“I do many fun things with people.”

“When? You’re always the last one out of here, and don’t say you’re not, because the computer logs route through IT and yours is always the last one to turn off.”

“What I choose to do with my personal time is none of your concern, as I have reminded you _multiple_  times.” He motioned out of the office again. “Get out. I have a meeting.”

“I haven’t fixed your problem,” Stiles insisted. “Just go, I’ll finish up.”

“I’m not leaving you in my office alone with all this sensitive information,” Derek barked, motioning him out again.

“Are you joking? I work in IT, I have access to all your files.”

“Get. Out.” Derek was starting to think he should get a sign or a stamp or something with those words on it. Stiles really liked to test his patience.

Rolling his head along with his eyes, Stiles shrugged dramatically and then stalked out of the office. Derek followed him out, shutting the door, and then starting down the corridor. Stiles kept in step beside him, hands in his pockets.

“So how come you don’t want to come hang out on Friday?”

“In what universe do you live where I would _ever_  go out with you on a Friday?” Derek demanded. “You’ve been asking for the past two years, and I fail to see what has changed in our relationship to make you think I’d agree.”

“Well, you _talk_  to me, now.” Stiles grinned, standing beside him while they waited for the elevator. “You didn’t used to before. You looked at me like I was dog shit on the bottom of your shoe and said nothing.”

Derek turned to glare at him and Stiles sighed nostalgically.

“That’s the look. Ah, memories.”

When the elevator arrived, Derek stepped in and hit the seventh floor. Stiles came right along with him and Derek pointed back out of the lift.

“You’re getting off at three. I’m going to seven. Get out.”

“You really need to expand your vocabulary range, Derek.”

“Mr. Hale!”

“What’s your deal with the Mr. Hale thing?” Stiles asked, the doors shutting and the lift beginning to move. “You’ve been asking me to call you that for years, but you realize no one else expects to be called by their last name.”

“You are supposed to show respect to your superiors.”

“But you’re not my superior. You’re in a completely different department.”

Derek just grit his teeth, waiting for the doors to open. When they did, he pushed out before they were fully open and hurried down the corridor.

“Bye Derek! Call me when you’re done so I can fix your computer!” Stiles called down the corridor.

Derek reminded himself that walking into work with a gun to murder Stiles would get him arrested, and he really, really, _really_  liked this job.

When he reached Chris Argent’s office, he knocked, the man glancing up from the paperwork he had in front of him, pen poised and marks all over the document he was reading over.

“Was that Stiles?” the man asked in way of greeting.

“Unfortunately,” Derek muttered. Stiles really _did_  know everyone if he knew the Senior Vice-President of Finance, but then again, he figured IT was kind of like that. Derek felt like he’d know them all if he saw anyone _other_  than Stiles.

Chris gave him an amused smile, motioning the seat across from him and Derek sat, his papers still in hand.

“Not a fan?” he asked Derek.

“He is extremely obnoxious, talks too much, and doesn’t know what the concept of work is.”

Chris actually laughed at that, surprising Derek a little. “Stiles doesn’t know what the concept of work is? I think you’ve misjudged him. There’s no one who works harder than him, believe me.”

“Doubt that,” Derek muttered. Chris’ humour slowly faded and Derek realized he was being a little rude to someone much more senior than him. He cleared his throat and tapped the bottom of his papers against the desk so they all lined up properly in his hands.

“You wanted to see some numbers on two of our largest accounts?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Chris held out his hand and took them when Derek passed them over.

He stayed silent while Chris flipped through the documents, eying him in confusion. He’d obviously mis-stepped when he’d made that comment about Stiles, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

Stiles was too talkative, and fairly useless. He had no idea how someone like Chris Argent could defend him, and even get offended on his behalf.

Was this what Stiles did? Made friendly with all the higher ups so he could benefit from being friends with the powerhouses of the company? It explained why he’d been pushing so hard with Derek, he was probably the only person in management barring the CEO and Board of Directors that he hadn’t won over.

Hell, for all Derek knew, Stiles _had_  won over the CEO and Board of Directors.

It didn’t matter, though. Stiles wouldn’t win him over.

He would _never_  win him over.

* * *

“I want to kick him in the balls,” Erica proclaimed loudly from outside his office, sounding offended. “He actually turned you down?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed sadly. “I keep trying and trying but my lumberjack just isn’t interested. It makes me sad.”

Stiles’ presence made Derek sad, but nobody seemed to care about that. Nobody cared that Derek was working on an extremely important project he had to present in just under two weeks to the CEO and Board of Directors. Nobody seemed to even be working in general, it seemed, since there was a group of his employees gathered around Erica’s desk to listen to Stiles bitch and moan about his nonexistent sex life.

Derek pitied the lumberjack he was so aggressively pursuing. He was fairly certain he’d have gotten a restraining order years ago if it were him. Stiles was crazy enough to definitely kidnap someone Hannibal Lecter style and keep them in a dank, dark basement for all time. He was too nice to be anything but a serial killer, to be honest.

Maybe Derek should report him to the feds. At least he’d get rid of him so his staff would actually _work_.

Getting to his feet after an additional five minutes of Stiles whining like an infant, he stomped to his door and stepped out, turning to Erica’s desk where four people from his department—including Erica—and three more from another department crowded around Erica’s desk, comforting Stiles for his lack of ability to get the lumberjack to notice him in the way he wanted to be noticed.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Derek snapped.

“We’re on lunch,” Erica responded, turning to him. “It’s almost one, you realize.”

“Derek,” Stiles whined, draping himself across Erica’s desk. She patted his back comfortingly. “Derek, why doesn’t the lumberjack like me? What can I do to change that?”

“If you’ve opened your mouth around him, that explains everything,” Derek told him coldly. “Maybe try shutting up for once. And standing still. Not breathing would help your cause, too.”

Stiles let out a wail of despair, and everyone quickly moved in to comfort him. Derek scowled, annoyed, and clapped his hands loudly.

“Enough. Back to work. Stiles, get the fuck out of my department.”

“Language,” Stiles chided, pointing one finger at him while still draped across the desk.

“I mean it, leave!” Derek snapped, storming into his office and slamming the door shut. He fell back into his chair and went back to work on his project, saving it every few seconds given his computer still shut down without his consent, and opening a few different websites so he could do some more official research.

He could hear the group outside starting to disperse, finally, and sat reading an article when there was a knock at his door. If that was Stiles, he was going to throw something heavy at his head and hope for blunt-force trauma.

“What?”

The door opened and Erica poked her head in, looking a little annoyed. Great, if he’d pissed her off, she was going to make his life miserable for the next week, at least.

“You could be a little nicer to Stiles, you know. He’s the only person in the company who’s willingly nice to you.”

“You’re nice to me,” he reminded her.

“I said _willingly_ , Derek,” she sighed, “pay attention.”

He looked up at her to glare, but she was way too used to that expression by now.

“Look, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to him.”

“It might.”

She rolled her eyes so hard her entire head went with it, then put her hands on her hips and gave him an annoyed look. “He was actually asking you a legitimate question. He knows you’re not fond of him, he wanted to know what he could do to improve in case his lumberjack has the same feelings as you. Instead of cutting him off at the knees, it wouldn’t kill you to just answer his question.”

“He’s obnoxious, loud, disruptive, annoying, has no concept of personal space, doesn’t understand the point of working somewhere, and has terrible taste in clothing,” Derek informed her. “You can go ahead and relay that.”

“You’re such an asshole,” she hissed under her breath, exiting his office and shutting his door again.

He didn’t bother reprimanding her for saying that to him, because he knew it was true. He _was_  an asshole, but he was also honest. Laura always said it was his most redeeming quality.

Glancing at the photo on the edge of his desk, he pulled it a little closer, eying his family and smiling a little, still unable to believe he’d let his beard get that out of hand. It would drive him crazy now if it grew out that much.

His eyes lingered on Laura for a moment, thinking about what she would say to him, and he sighed, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his face with both hands.

If he was honest, as annoying as Stiles was, he was cute. Not hot by any means, but he had this kind of innocent, adorable cherub look to him. Derek could admit—to himself, alone, without anyone else ever, _ever_  finding out—that Stiles was cute. He had great skin, and cute little moles, and a brilliant smile, and bright eyes.

When his mouth was shut, sure, Derek could admit that he was adorable.

Though to be fair, even with his mouth open, Stiles wasn’t nearly as bad as Derek pretended he was. Yes, he was loud and annoying, talked way too much, and didn’t understand the concept of work. But he also acknowledged that Stiles was considerate, and funny, and compassionate. He was smart, and supportive, and helpful, and even though Derek always turned down invitations to go out for drinks, he never stopped asking just on the off-chance Derek would want to go one time.

If Derek wasn’t having a bad day, and sat down to really think on it, Stiles was actually pretty amazing. He might know more than he cared to about him given Stiles’ inability to shut up, but he had to acknowledge that he didn’t hate him nearly as much as he pretended to.

Stiles was a good guy, even if Derek would never, _ever_  tell him that.

* * *

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please, please, please?”

“No.”

“What if I begged?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” Derek asked, exasperated. He was exhausted and cranky, and he just wanted to finish the slide he was working on and go home. It was late, he was tired, the week had been long, and he’d had to deal with Stiles a grand total of twelve times this week alone.

The last thing he wanted to do was walk out of his office with him at his side and head to the pub down the road with a few other work people and socialize. He was perfectly happy socializing with his book at home in his comfy sweats and plush couch.

“Derek, you literally do nothing but work. You need to go out every now and then, or you’re going to forget how to be social.”

“I go out plenty,” Derek snapped, wishing Stiles would leave so he could _think_.

“One drink. Please. _Please_?”

“If I have to say no one more time, I’m calling security,” he threatened.

Stiles just sighed dramatically and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the desk in front of him and half-burying his face in the inside of his left elbow. He was watching Derek work, but at least he was being quiet, now. Thank God for small miracles, he supposed.

Derek kept working, wondering what Stiles was thinking about and wishing—not for the first time—that he’d leave. Didn’t look like that was going to happen, so he tried not to be too annoyed about it and kept working on his slide.

Stiles reached out for the photo on his desk, and Derek just let him, the other turning it a bit more so it was facing him. He glanced briefly at Stiles, seeing him inspecting every inch of the photo with his eyes, but he didn’t say anything so Derek kept typing.

He was almost done with the slide, only two or three sentences left to write, when there was a knock at his door and he glanced up, even though the person who’d done so wasn’t looking at him, but at his unwelcome visitor.

“Hey,” Erica said, standing beside who Derek knew was the Corporate Secretary along with Boyd from Accounts Payable and some dark-haired guy he didn’t recognize. “Ready to go?”

“I guess,” Stiles sighed sadly, getting to his feet. “Derek won’t come.”

“Tragic.”

Derek glared at Erica, but she just beamed at him, her grin almost feral.

“Did you invite the lumberjack?”

“Are you trying to make me depressed?” Stiles demanded, clutching at his shirt above his heart, as if mortally wounded. “Of course I did. You’d think I asked him to marry me with the way he continuously rejected my very kind offer.”

“I don’t get what you see in that guy,” the Corporate Secretary said with a frown. “He’s always an asshole to you.”

“Not always,” Stiles insisted.

“Actually, yes, always,” the dark-haired man agreed. “Are you a masochist or something?”

“Okay!” Stiles clapped his hands loudly, getting to his feet. “Derek’s getting jealous of my beautiful lumberjack almost-boyfriend, so we should go.”

“I pity your lumberjack, actually,” Derek muttered, typing one final sentence before nodding, satisfied, and saving the file. He started shutting everything down and noticed the group lingering, as if waiting for him. He wished they wouldn’t, and he purposefully took his time packing up, hoping they’d leave, but no one moved. It looked like they were taking their cue from Stiles, who was still standing across from his desk.

Unable to procrastinate any longer, Derek pulled on his coat and grabbed his briefcase. When he headed for the door, Stiles finally exited the office, the others moving a bit down the corridor so they weren’t in the way. They chatted with one another, heading for the elevator, but Stiles waited beside Derek’s office door while he locked it.

“So what are you doing tonight?” Stiles asked.

“Reading,” Derek informed him. It took him a second to realize why Stiles looked so pleasantly surprised.

Usually, Derek told him it was none of his business, but he was so tired and eager to leave that he hadn’t been thinking and unconsciously admitted the truth.

“You like reading, huh? That’s cool. What are you reading now? Anything good?”

“I don’t remember,” he muttered, not wanting to encourage Stiles with his slip-up.

They all waited for the elevator together, the others chatting together but the Corporate Secretary turned to look at Derek with interest. He raised his eyebrows at him, wondering what he was staring at.

“So you’re the guy with the proposal meeting coming up, right?”

Derek felt his stomach roll at the thought. He’d been working on the project all day, that had been what he had been finishing a slide for just now. The meeting was in exactly five days, and he knew he’d be back over the weekend to work on it some more. It had to be perfect.

“I am.”

“Nervous?” the man asked.

“Nah, Derek’s awesome,” Stiles insisted, slapping his back and grinning. “He’s gonna nail it. I have faith in him.”

It felt nice hearing Stiles say that, but Derek didn’t thank him. The elevator arrived and they piled in, riding to the ground floor while the Secretary told Stiles not to get people’s hopes up in case things didn’t pan out how they wanted to. Stiles insisted he had a good feeling about Derek’s project and the Secretary just rolled his eyes at him but said nothing else.

When they reached the ground floor, Stiles brightly called goodbye to the night guard, who responded in kind with a smile and a wave.

They walked out of the building and before Derek could turn to leave, Stiles tugged lightly at his sleeve, forcing him to turn. He offered Derek a hesitant smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? One drink? It’ll be fun.”

“I have a lot of work to do,” Derek said. “Thank you, but no.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, propping his voice up even as his shoulders sagged a little bit. “Next time.”

Derek didn’t want to get his hopes up, since he was never going to accept any of their offers, ever, but he somehow found himself saying, “Maybe.”

Stiles instantly perked up, loudly exclaimed he’d see him on Monday, and turned to catch up with his friends, who’d started walking without him. He jumped on the dark-haired man’s back when he reached him, almost knocking him over, then landed on his feet beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and tugging him closer.

Derek ignored the way his chest tightened at the sight of the group of friends walking down the street together. He just turned away and started the walk to the bus stop so he could go home.

He was _not_  looking forward to his meeting with the CEO and Board of Directors.

* * *

Derek’s heart felt like it was trying to beat itself out of his chest. He kept looking at his watch in a panic, the minutes slowly ticking past, moving closer and closer to his meeting with the CEO and Board of Directors.

But that wasn’t why his heart was beating a mile a minute. Oh no! That had _nothing_  to do with why his heart was trying out for a drum solo in his chest.

No, the reason he felt ready to vomit everywhere was because the file he needed for his presentation had frozen while he’d been transferring it to a thumb drive so he could bring it to the meeting room and it had gotten corrupted.

Months of working on the project, and now it was all going to go down the shitter, because his computer was a fucking sabotaging asshole.

“It’s okay, Derek,” Stiles insisted, long fingers typing away on some weird background screen Derek didn’t recognize. He lacked the patience to correct him, too panicked that the meeting he had in under ten minutes was going to be the single most humiliating moment of his life.

“Keep working,” he snapped, pacing behind Stiles and watching him work.

“Try to stay calm, okay? Deep breaths. This will get fixed, I promise. And even if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. You know, everything happens for a reason. And you’re prepared for this meeting, so even if you have to do it without the file, you’ll be fine.”

“Please just—can you just focus. Please.” Derek rubbed at his mouth, still pacing, watching all the coding Stiles was doing and praying to all Gods that did or didn’t exist that he could fix the problem.

He glanced at the time again. Under seven minutes now. Jesus Christ. _Jesus Christ_!

“Have a little faith in me. It’s gonna be okay. I know things look bad right now, but look for the silver lining. Everyone has computer problems, they aren’t going to judge you for this.”

“If I can’t even remember to back up my own work, why would they trust me with any of theirs?” Derek demanded, temper flaring now that he was moving into the six minute mark.

Fuck. _Fuck_! He was _fucked_!

“This isn’t on you, it’s the computer system. Just remember, tough times never last, only tough people do. Some guy named Robert Schuller said that, and he was right. You’ll get through this. My dad always says—”

It was not one of Derek’s finer moments, and he knew that, but he was extremely stressed, having a bad day, and was going to a board meeting in five minutes with a file that wouldn’t open.

He was sure his mother would be ashamed of him.

“Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed, interrupting Stiles mid-sentence. “Shut up with your stupid hallmark card remarks and your idiotic and uninteresting comments about your pathetically stupid life! I don’t give a shit about your life, and I don’t give a shit about _you_! What I _do_  give a shit about is this meeting I’m about to go to with members of the board and my corrupted _fucking_  file! So stop talking and fucking _fix_  it before I find your supervisor and get him to _fire your incompetent ass_!”

Derek had never known silence could be so deafening. All chatter outside his office had ceased and Stiles stood in front of him, looking startled and, quite understandably, hurt.

Pressing his lips together, Stiles nodded once and then cleared his throat, moving to grab Derek’s mouse and clicking a few buttons. Within half a minute, the file loaded and everything began working once more.

“There you go, Mr. Hale. If that’s all, I’ll be going.”

Derek knew he should say something, but he didn’t know what and lacked the brain capacity right now, since he was still panicking quite a bit. He just watched Stiles walk out of his office and down the corridor without saying a word to anyone.

Sighing to himself, Derek swore he’d apologize later, but right now he didn’t have the time. He just grabbed his files, pulled the USB from his computer and rushed out of his office, checking the time on his watch.

Erica didn’t look at him as he passed her, and he was extremely aware of how silent this area of the floor was. Everyone he looked at resolutely kept their heads down and their mouths shut, typing away at their computers. He knew he’d have to fix what just happened, and wished he’d been able to control his temper a bit more.

He made it to the elevator and into the boardroom with a minute to spare. Most of the members were present, but three seats were still empty, one being the head of the table.

People chatted to one another while he set up and they waited for their last three arrivals. One came in quietly a few moments later, but the one after him came in with a flurry of motion, arms piled full of paperwork and notebooks and hair pulled back into the tightest, neatest bun Derek had ever seen. He’d never met Lydia Martin personally, but every meeting he’d ever been in with her showed how powerful of a woman she was. He could understand why the CEO trusted her so absolutely with virtually everything.

“Apologies for the delay,” she informed the room, setting her things down and taking a seat at the head of the table. “Our CEO won’t be joining us today. Unavoidable personal matters arose and he has had to take the day. I’ll be sitting in as his proxy, Isaac please make note.”

The Corporate Secretary nodded and began typing furiously on his laptop.

“All right, Mr. Hale,” Lydia said, leaning back in her seat and folding her hands together. “Wow me. And it better be good.”

Somehow, it sounded like a warning, but Derek forced himself to just stay calm and work through the presentation as he had numerous times before. He ignored the whispered comments going on between the members, knowing this was the norm for these kinds of things, even if he had never experienced them first-hand.

When he was done, a few members had some questions, which he addressed, and they voted on whether or not to discuss the matter further. It was a close vote, Lydia pushing it over to the “in favour” side with her own vote and her proxy.

She thanked him for his time, told him they’d discuss it further and someone would touch base with him accordingly. He thanked the room, gathered his things, and left.

The second he stepped out of the room, a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, which only allowed the crushing guilt he felt to hit him even harder. Rubbing at his mouth with one hand, he cursed while waiting for the elevator and decided he should get it over with.

He’d been out of line, and he _knew_  he’d been out of line. Being stressed was no excuse for how he’d behaved and he wished he could just reverse time and deal with it all more calmly, but he couldn’t.

When the lift arrived, he headed to the third floor where the IT department was, and stepped through the locked doors with a swipe of his keypass. He’d never been in IT’s area before, so he spent a few minutes wandering around the floor trying to actually _find_  IT before someone in Facilities took pity on him and lead him to their area. He looked around for Stiles when he reached it and, upon not finding him, knocked on the manager’s door.

“Can I help you?” the man asked gruffly, not looking up from his computer.

“Yes, sorry, I’m looking for Stiles?”

At those words, he focussed his attention on Derek and leaned back in his seat, pulling his glasses off. “You must be Derek Hale.”

He felt his chest clench at the knowledge that the manager would know who he was. What if Stiles had complained to HR? He’d have every right to, but Derek hated the thought that he’d driven someone to that.

“I am,” he said quietly, ashamed. “I was hoping I could speak to him. I wanted to—I wanted to apologize. For earlier.”

“Mmhm.” The man just kept staring at Derek, his look intense and unsettling. Derek shifted his weight, wondering if maybe he could just _find_  Stiles on his own, but the man finally leaned forward and put his glasses back on, turning to his screen.

“I sent Stiles home. He wasn’t in any shape to be at work.”

Derek winced internally but just nodded to the manager. “I understand. If you could please let him know to drop by when he’s in next, I would appreciate it.”

“Mmhm,” the man said, typing something and pointedly not looking at Derek.

Nodding slowly, Derek turned to leave, knowing a dismissal when he saw one, but turned back when the manager spoke again.

“Oh, and Mr. Hale?”

“Yes?” he asked, a little uncomfortable with being called _Mr_. Hale by someone much older than him.

“The next time you think about exploding on my son, I’d suggest you think about your future a little bit more and what you’re looking to achieve in this company. I’m not going to fight his battles for him, but you do this again, and I don’t care what he says, I’ll go to HR.”

Nodding in understanding, Derek turned and quickly left the office, feeling doubly horrible since apparently the manager of IT was also Stiles’ _dad_. Terrific. Just what he always wanted.

Sighing and heading back up to his office, he walked slowly back to his desk, noticing everyone had gone eerily silent once more upon his arrival. When he started past Erica’s desk, he paused and turned to her.

“I may have overreacted,” he said quietly.

“I think you meant ‘definitely’ instead of ‘may have,’ but at least you figured it out on your own,” she said coldly, not looking up at him and continuing to type.

Nodding and knowing she was going to be cold with him for a while after this outburst, he just walked into his office and shut the door, wanting a bit of privacy. When he fell into his chair, he covered his face with both hands and let out a long sigh.

Hopefully he could talk to Stiles tomorrow and they could get this all sorted out.

* * *

Derek went down to IT the following day, but Stiles wasn’t there. When he asked one of his coworkers about it—the dark-haired guy he’d gone drinking with the other week—he said Stiles was working remotely and wouldn’t be in the IT area for the day. Thanking him, Derek decided he could only talk to him today if he worked at it, so he went back to his desk and called the IT General line.

He got lucky on his first try.

_“Helpdesk, Stiles speaking,”_  a cheerful voice said down the line.

“Stiles, it’s Derek. Look—“

_“Is your computer acting up again, Mr. Hale? I’ll have someone at your office momentarily.”_

Derek stared at his phone when the dial tone buzzed loudly. Stiles had hung up on him. Scowling and setting his phone down slowly, he debated calling back and thought about what he would even say to get Stiles to stay on the line when there was a knock at his open door.

He looked up and saw the same worker from that morning in the doorway, offering him a little wave.

“Hey. You were having computer problems?”

“No, I wasn’t,” he said with a scowl.

“Oh. Then why did you call IT?”

“I was trying to speak to Stiles.”

“I think he’s had his fill of being yelled at and insulted by you,” the other said, and Derek glowered at him. The IT guy raised both hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m only repeating what he’s told me. Pretty sure you’re the reason he’s going to work remotely for like, the next five years. Thanks, by the way. Real nice of you to ruin this for the rest of us.”

Before Derek could say anything, the other man turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing from sight.

Derek scowled angrily, glaring holes into his desk. Yes, he had overreacted! Yes! He knew he had! It wasn’t one of his most defining moments! But he was trying to _apologize_! Did people not understand the concept?!

Turning to his computer, he pulled up his email and started typing in Stiles’ name in the global address list. He frowned when nothing came up, wondering if maybe he’d spelled it wrong. He went to one of his Helpdesk tickets and checked the signature at the bottom, noticing for the first time that all it said was “Stiles.”

No last name.

When he checked all the other tickets, he realized all the IT guys seemed to sign like that, because he just had a list of “Scott,” “Hayden,” “Noah,” and so forth, but no last names. Was it so that nobody could find the IT guys and murder them in their sleep or something?

Pushing away from his desk, frustrated, he stomped out of his office and snapped at Erica that he was going to get a coffee. He heard her mutter something under her breath, but he was too annoyed to care what it was and just made his way down the corridor.

He figured he would try again the following day, but when he went to visit IT, Stiles was once again working remotely. He called the Helpdesk four times before catching Stiles, but the second he spoke, Stiles cut him off with confirmation someone was on their way and hung up.

Derek ended up scouring the entire first names beginning with “S” section of the global address list in an attempt to find him so he could fucking _apologize_ , but he was nowhere to be found.

It was like Stiles didn’t fucking _exist_!

After two weeks of this same treatment, Derek had had enough. He stormed down to the IT Department, intent on getting his email from Stiles’ father, but when he reached the office he found the door locked and the light off.

“Looking for Noah?”

Derek turned to see the mouthy guy from his first day sans-Stiles sitting at a desk a little ways away. There was a nameplate on the front which read “Scott McCall.” Behind him was another desk with a blank nameplate, but someone had put a post-it on it that read “Stiles.”

Apparently Stiles wasn’t worthy of a proper nameplate.

“I was, where is he?” Derek demanded, stalking forward.

“Vacation. Even managers get time off, too, you know. Not everyone can work like a robot, unlike some other people here.” He coughed a little and averted his gaze at the hard look Derek gave him.

“I need to speak with Stiles.”

“I feel like he’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I’m trying to apologize!” Derek yelled, Scott leaning back in his seat. Cursing and covering his face with both hands, Derek tried to calm himself down. After a few quiet seconds, he dragged his hands down his face and held them both out in a calming gesture. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I am a little stressed, and I just—I am trying to fix what I did, because I know my behaviour was unacceptable, but it’s difficult to apologize to someone who is avoiding me.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, man.” Scott shrugged, crossing his arms. “I’m not his keeper, I’m his friend. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, there’s not much I can do about that.”

Derek took a steadying breath inward, struggling not to lose his shit on this idiot. “Thank you for your time. I apologize for raising my voice.”

“Sure,” Scott said, and Derek turned away from him, stalking back to the elevator.

He fumed the entire ride up in the lift, but the thing that pissed him off the most was that he was angry at _himself_. He knew he was obsessing over this because he had been in the wrong, and he felt _guilty_  about it, but Stiles not even willing to _listen_  to an apology was slowly driving him _insane_. He was going to end up going to HR to get his home address so he could fucking crawl on his knees and just beg him to _talk to him_!

He hadn’t even realized that he _missed_  him until he’d spent four days dealing with other guys from IT. Yes, they were faster because they didn’t blabber incessantly about stupid things, but Stiles actually liked to get to know people. He seemed to really enjoy his job, and all the people he met along the way.

And Derek _knew_  Stiles was the most popular guy in the company. Virtually everybody knew him, and he had also heard that a lot of the women—and single gay men—had made their interests in him known but he kept turning them down for some mysterious lumberjack-sounding moron who couldn’t figure out Stiles was amazing and worth his time!

And now that Derek was on the outs with him, he was really missing listening to him be an idiot. He hadn’t realized how enjoyable it was to be around Stiles until he was suddenly “Mr. Hale” instead of “Derek.”

It sucked. And he hated it.

Falling back into his seat, he rubbed at his face with both hands, wondering how he was supposed to get any work done with this guilt gnawing at his insides, and then realized he _could_  do something. Opening a new email, he searched through the names for Scott’s, finding it easily compared to Stiles’, and started writing an email.

_Good afternoon Scott,_  
_I understand that you are not a messenger, and that you are attempting to stay out of this, however I have been attempting to apologize to Stiles for two weeks and I am slowly growing concerned that I will never have the opportunity._  
_All that I ask is that you please forward this to Stiles so I can finally speak to him and apologize face to face like I’ve been attempting to do for days. If he decides to delete this, then at least I’ll know I attempted every avenue available to me._  
_Stiles, I am truly, sincerely sorry for what I said on the last day we spoke. It was uncalled for, it was rude, and completely unacceptable. My mother would have been ashamed, though probably not half as ashamed as I felt the moment you walked out of my office._  
_I was under a lot of stress that day, and while I know it isn’t an excuse, I want you to know that I would not have exploded like that were I not already high strung over what was transpiring moments after you were in my office. I had a meeting with the CEO and Board of Directors, and as I’m sure you can imagine, that had my complete attention and I completely overreacted when you were trying to help, and I’m sorry._  
_I do NOT think your life is pathetic. I do NOT think you are full of stupid hallmark card remarks. And, believe it or not, I DO give a shit about you. Everything I said came from a place of anger, and it was completely unacceptable and uncalled for, and I am deeply, truly sorry._  
_Please, I would really like the opportunity to apologize in person. I would really like to make this right. I understand if you’d prefer never to deal with me again, I would deserve that, and if you decide not to forgive me, it’s something I’ll have to live with, but please just let me make it right._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Derek Hale._

Writing in a subject header of “For Stiles,” Derek sent it off to Scott and felt a little better at the possibility that maybe he would be able to fix things with Stiles.

He got a response a few seconds later from Scott, saying he’d forward it along, but to prepare to be disappointed, and Derek sighed and figured he would have to live with that. At least he could know that he tried, and if he _did_  lose Stiles, well, it would be a lesson to him for the next time he lost his temper.

* * *

Derek didn’t hear from Stiles the following day, and then it was the weekend so he figured he’d blown his chance and was going to have to keep hunting Stiles down in the IT area, because he wasn’t ready to let this go.

Maybe he’d lay off for a week, give him a false sense of security, act like he was done trying to apologize, and then he’d corner him one day! Send Erica down to do some recon and if Stiles was there, he’d race down there and apologize so loudly the CEO would hear him on the top floor.

He was still thinking about this plan when he arrived to work on Monday morning and booted up his computer. When he opened his emails, he almost choked on his coffee when he saw an email from the CEO in his inbox, and got extremely flustered at the realization that they were obviously thinking of moving forward with his idea.

That thought and his excitement died when he saw the subject of the email was “For Stiles.”

Which meant his apology email that he’d sent to Scott had gone to the CEO. Because Derek had been stupid enough to put it all in an email, and now the fucking _CEO_  knew that he was a colossal douchebag and he was about to get fired.

Derek was going to get fired. He might as well pick up his coffee and walk out now before security came to escort him from the premises.

With a sense of dread, he clicked on the email with a wince, and looked it over.

His original email was at the bottom of the chain, as expected, with the CEO’s response above it. He didn’t know how it had gone from Scott to the CEO, but he supposed it must’ve exchanged a few hands before reaching him. Maybe it had gone from Scott to Stiles to his dad to HR to the CEO.

Knowing he’d dug his own grave, he read over the email.

_Good morning Mr. Hale,_  
_Please advise Lydia upon your arrival, she will bring you to my office._  
_Regards,_  
_Mieczyslaw Stilinski_

Derek covered his face with both hands and sat at his desk for a long while, wondering if he was too old to move in with his parents. The answer was yes, but he tried not to dwell on that fact. This was a fucking disaster. He’d been working there for four fucking years, making his way up from the bottom, getting where he was through hard work and determination.

One explosion. One explosion to someone who didn’t deserve it because he was stressed and sleep-deprived, and now he was going to lose it all. Mr. Stilinski was one of the biggest names in the industry, if Derek got fired from this company, everyone would know and he would have a black mark on his record. No one would ever hire him again, he would just have wasted his life trying to work at something he was now losing all over a stupid fucking temper tantrum.

“Are you okay?”

Derek dragged his hands down his face, raising his head and finding Erica in the doorway. She still had her coat on, purse over her shoulder, and was holding a pastry bag in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“I’m about to get fired.”

“Doubtful, but why, exactly?” she asked, moving forward into his office.

Derek just sighed and stood. “Erica, I know I’m not the easiest man to work with, but I want you to know that you’re an amazing executive assistant, and that you can go anywhere in this company if you really want to. I’ve been lucky to have you the past few years, and I hope my successor treats you better than I did.”

Erica frowned at him. “Okay... Are you sick? Are you dying?” She paled. “Oh my God, you’re dying! Why didn’t you tell me?! Have you been going to a doctor? Is that why you have such bad mood swings?”

“Erica, I just told you, I’m getting fired.”

“And _I_  told _you_  that that _definitely_  isn’t it. Because you would never get fired. You’re too...” she motioned him without finishing and Derek cocked an eyebrow. “But for the sake of dramatics, why, pray tell, do you think you’re getting fired?”

“Can you call Lydia Martin and let her know I’m on my way up?”

Erica frowned at him. “Why would I be telling Lydia that you’re on your way—oh.” She pressed her lips together, then nodded slowly. “Is this about the Stiles thing?”

“Yup.”

She nodded again, eyes looking anywhere but at him before popping her lips loudly. “Right. Um, well, good luck? It’s been fun? I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

They both exited the office and Derek listened to Erica pick up the phone. He was too far away to hear her by the time she actually started speaking, but he just went to the elevator and stepped in once it arrived. He watched the floor beyond for a few seconds while the doors closed, sighing and rubbing his face with one hand.

Actions had consequences. He’d always known that, but he’d somehow forgotten it along the way. Rising up the ranks had made him forget that people worked _with_  him, and not just _for_  him. Everyone warranted respect, especially from people in more senior positions. Derek was supposed to be an example, not a bully.

And that was what he’d been to Stiles. For years. A bully. He had _never_  been polite to him, _ever_. He had never treated him with respect, he’d never shown an interest in his life, he always snapped at him to just do his job and leave...

Sighing again as the elevator doors opened, he started when he found Lydia right on the other side. She gave him a small, sympathetic look that he was sure was more sarcastic than anything.

“Rough morning?”

“You could say that,” he said quietly.

“Sucks. This way.” She turned, flipping some hair over her shoulder and led the way down the corridor past desks of workers. She swiped a keypass near one of the locked doors and then pushed it open, holding it for Derek to step through and then leading the way once more.

The closer they got to the oak double doors, the sicker Derek felt. He hoped he at least had time to say goodbye to some people. He hadn’t exactly made a lot of friends in the place while working there—which he now deeply regretted—but he still had some people he’d like to thank for their hard work and assistance. He recognized he’d made it where he was today only with the help of others, and he wanted to make sure they knew he owed them.

Lydia stopped and rapped twice on one of the doors before pushing it open and stepping inside.

“Derek Hale’s here,” she said, Derek following her into the large office. “I’m going for coffee with Kira, so text me when you’re done if you need me to get any paperwork sent to HR.”

Derek winced at that, but Lydia just turned and disappeared back out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Looking around the large, spacious area, Derek had to admit the guy had one hell of a view. They were on the twelfth floor of a fifteen floor building, and there was a gorgeous view of the entire downtown area, complete with still slowly rising sun, tinging the sky different hues of orange and red.

Mr. Stilinski had his chair facing the window, evidently enjoying the view before having to fire off a poor schmuck, so Derek just moved forward slowly and stood on the opposite side of his large mahogany desk, hands gripping the back of the guest seats hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Derek wished he could just get fired and get it over with. The long, tense silence was almost too much for him to bear, and he just stood there gripping the chairback, staring at the plaque on the front of Mr. Stilinski’s desk that proclaimed his name in beautiful cursive writing.

Mieczyslaw Stilinski.

Derek had no idea how to pronounce it, but he was sure today was not the day he would find out.

“Quite the view, huh?”

If it was possible for Derek’s heart to relocate itself in his body, he would’ve sworn it had just gone into his throat at those four words.

He stared wide-eyed as the chair turned, Stiles leaning back in the soft leather with one leg crossed over the other and his fingers steepled. He half-smiled when he was fully facing Derek.

“I’ve always wanted to do the dramatic supervillain chair spin reveal. Thank you for letting me cross that one off my bucket list.”

“What are you doing here?” Derek blurted out, horrified. Was Stiles _insane_?! What if Mr. Stilinski came back?! Then Derek would _definitely_  be fired, if he wasn’t already!

“What am I doing here?” Stiles asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes!”

“In my own office?”

“Yes!” Derek paused. “Wait, what?”

Stiles just stared at him, like he was waiting for something, but Derek was so panicked in that moment that he didn’t know what he was supposed to be figuring out.

“Stiles, look, I really want to apologize to you for what happened, I _really_  do, but now is not a good time, I’m about to get fired, and I’m a little panicked at the moment, so can you please just leave before Mr. Stilinski comes back?”

Stiles just leaned back further in the chair, folding his hands together and resting them on his stomach. He sniffed, then cleared his throat, and just kept staring at Derek, which was doing _nothing_  for his anxiety.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said. “You’ll get there. Deep breaths.”

“Stiles—“

“Deep breaths, Mr. Hale.”

This couldn’t be happening. Derek was going to hyperventilate in the CEO’s office with one of the IT guys sitting in his chair, this was a fucking _nightmare_!

Derek focussed on the plaque on the desk instead to try and calm himself down so he wouldn’t yell at Stiles _again_ , though this time, he felt like it would be warranted. He was literally on the verge of hysterics when he read the name on the plaque again.

Mieczyslaw Stilinski.

Stilinski.

Stiles. Stilinski.

Stiles.

_Stiles_!

His eyes shot back to Stiles, mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Stiles beamed at him. “Woop, there it is,” he sang softly. “Knew it’d hit you eventually. Sit down, what is this, school?” Stiles pushed himself out of his chair and headed across the room while Derek sat down numbly, his brain completely blank. He didn’t know what was happening right now. Was he dreaming? Was this the _Twilight Zone_? Had he fallen through a hole in space-time and come out in a different dimension?

“You like your coffee with two sugars and a cream, right?” Stiles asked from across the room, but Derek couldn’t find his voice to answer him.

He just sat in one of the chairs opposite Stiles’ and stared blankly at the desk. A lot of things suddenly made a whole lot of sense. Like how nobody ever _saw_  Mr. Stilinski at the office, though he was _always_  around somehow. The way he always managed to evade photographers during social events. The reason his executive assistant was so young and had moved so far ahead so quickly—everyone said they were childhood friends, but that had never clicked in Derek’s brain that it wasn’t because Mr. Stilinski was an old dude who’d gotten held back, but because they were _the same age_.

The reason Mr. Stilinski hadn’t shown up the day of his presentation, when he’d yelled at Stiles in his office.

He tensed when a mug was set down in front of him, likely with two sugars and one cream. Stiles let out a groan while taking a seat in his own chair and sipped loudly at his tea, tag sticking out of the side of the mug.

Derek didn’t want to look up at him, but if he didn’t, he was liable to lose his mind so ever so slowly, he looked up.

Stiles was staring right at him, sipping at his tea.

“You’re...”

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski. Yup.” Stiles popped the ‘p’ loudly, licking stray drops of tea from his lips.

“But you work in IT.”

“So?” Stiles asked, taking another large swallow. “I like IT. I double-majored in Business and Computer Sciences. Yeah, I run the business, but I like being with all the staff on the regular and IT lets me do that on top of being fun.” He shrugged. “Besides, have to stay close to my Pops, he knows dick all about computers. Don’t know _why_  he insisted on managing the IT Department, of all places. Gave him the choice of anywhere he wanted, even _security_  which, you know, I thought he’d be down for given he was a sheriff most of his life, but no, he decides on IT. I think he just likes keeping me in sight in case I do anything stupid.” Stiles shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

“So the CEO of one of the largest companies in the industry spends his entire day answering stupid questions and crawling around on the floor?” Derek asked, still not quite sure he had his brain wrapped around all this.

“I don’t crawl around that much, to be honest. Your office was badly built, in my opinion. I swear, every outlet you have in there is out to get me. No matter what I do, it doesn’t stay fixed. Bad wiring, I say. Inefficient. Should have someone come out and look into that, but it gave me an excuse to visit you, so I kept delaying it. My bad.”

Derek just stared at him, listening to him speak, his words practically floating off him. He still didn’t believe this was real. The chances of this not being a dream were astronomically small, but Derek was clenching his hands into fists, nails breaking skin in his palms, and that fucking _hurt_  so he was definitely _not_  dreaming.

They were silent for a moment save for Stiles’ slurping and after what felt like an eternity, Stiles leaned forward and set his cup down, eying Derek.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Stiles asked, enunciating each word slowly. “Maybe drink some coffee. It’ll jump-start your brain.”

Derek reached for the mug automatically and took a sip. It was perfect, and he didn’t realize Stiles had ever paid enough attention to him to know what he took in his coffee. All those times he’d been following him around, Stiles had actually been _looking_  at what he was doing, not just following him to be annoying.

“You’re actually Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

“Yup.”

“Honestly?”

Stiles sighed explosively and reached into his pocket. Derek watched him pull his wallet out, yank a card out, and toss it across the desk. Hesitating for only a moment, Derek reached out and pulled it closer, staring down at the New York driver’s license with a smiling photo of Stiles, along with his full legal name of Mieczyslaw Stilinski.

“I get it,” Stiles said, reaching forward to grab the card back and putting it away. “I mean, I’m twenty-four but I look like I’m still in high school. I get carded _every_  time I get alcohol, and someone tried to _keep_  my ID once because they thought it was fake.” He scoffed, shaking his head and raking a hand through his hair. “It’s my cheeks. They’re too pudgy.” He started tugging at his cheeks, making weird faces, and all Derek could think while he watched him do this was: _The fate of my future is in the hands of a toddler._

He couldn’t help it. Stiles was like a giant child.

Realizing that, first off, he was insulting the CEO in his head, _and_  that he now had Stiles in front of him to apologize to regardless of his real name, Derek put his coffee down and shifted forward in his seat.

“So I’m pretty sure you called me up here to fire me, and I completely understand, but before you do, I—”

“No,” Stiles said, sounding confused.

Derek blinked. “No what?”

“No I didn’t call you up here to fire you?” Stiles asked, frowning. “I called you up here because of your apology email.”

They stared at one another in silence for a moment and Stiles set his tea down, leaning forward in his seat and frowning further.

“Derek, what you did was unacceptable. I know it was, and I know that you acknowledge that it was. But you’re an amazingly hard worker, and I know you were under a lot of stress that day. I was trying to calm you down before the meeting, but it occurred to me later that I was probably only making a bad situation worse for you, so that was my fault. But I’ve had multiple people speak to your staff on the floor, and everyone always says the same thing about you. You’re a hard worker, you get things done, and you’re always the first person to take the fall for something, no matter who did it on your team. Of course, they do also say you’re rude, curt, lack in support tactics and can be loud and angry at inopportune times, but we can work on that.” Stiles waved one hand in dismissal. “I don’t condone what you did, and had you yelled at _anyone_  else the way you yelled at me, yeah, I might feel inclined to fire you because I don’t tolerate bullying, but luckily for you, it was _me_  you yelled at, and as my dad would say, I’m enough on a good day to drive a saint to murder so catching someone on a bad day was bound to be explosive. So, I’m sorry that I only exacerbated the problem.”

Derek had to be dead right now and this was all some weird, elaborate end-of-life experience, because what?

“Why are you apologizing?” Derek asked slowly. “Stiles—Mr. Stilinski—”

“Dude, no.” Stiles pointed at him, cutting him off. “Mr. Stilinski is my dad. It’s Stiles, or don’t even talk to me.”

“Stiles,” Derek tried again, “I was way out of line, and yes, I was stressed, but that isn’t a good enough excuse. My behaviour was unacceptable and it’s why I’ve been trying to meet with you for the past two weeks so I could apologize in person so you would know that I am honestly, truly, _very_  sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, and I promise, it won’t happen again.”

Stiles nodded once, then smiled. “Thank you. Apology accepted. Now that we’ve cleared that up, we’re gonna need to shuffle your reporting line because this isn’t gonna work anymore.” Stiles turned and began typing on his computer, Derek frowning, not understanding what he meant. “Ugh, Harris will filet me if I assign someone else to him, and I don’t hate you enough to put you in that position anyway. Finstock’s nuts though, no idea why I keep him around.” He typed a bit more and hummed. “Maybe Argent. Chris is always saying he wants new meat, but he’s got ten people already and he might not want to get someone else.” He clicked his tongue repeatedly, eyes on his screen, then made another noise. “I can move Lydia to Finstock, she knows how to handle him, and she’s been butting heads with Chris a lot anyway. So that works out, Lydia over to him, and you under Chris and...” he typed a few more things then hit enter very hard. “Done. I better not forget to let Lydia know to inform HR or she’ll get pissed at me.”

“I’m sorry, what’s done?” Derek asked.

“Oh, as you know, everyone in the company reports to someone who reports to someone who eventually reports to me.” Stiles grinned. “That doesn’t really work for people who end up finding out who I am, like Isaac and Scott, but not Erica so don’t tell her. But when people know who I am, it doesn’t work because then it’s all weird and awkward if things happen, and like, if I was interested in someone and wanted to date them, that’d make things difficult because like, are they dating me to keep their job or are they dating me because they like me and it’s just all kinds of complicated.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “So when a few people were starting to find out that Stiles in IT was Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Lydia came up with the idea that I would have five people I trusted to be the top brass for those specific people who found out who I was. That way, no matter what happens on a personal level, anyone who reports to someone other than me as the head honcho is guaranteed my pettiness won’t lose them their job. It also stops favouritism since I’m a nice guy and I just want to promote Scott to the highest thing I can because he’s been my best friend for years, so it’s better for everyone, really. Though I do still have a say in salaries, which is why Scott gets paid _way_  more than he should, but he helps his mom, so I can’t fault him for that. Besides, he’s under Lydia and she’s got a soft spot for his puppy eyes so she’d give him a good salary anyway.”

Derek stared at him. “You have five people who deal with specific staff to ensure there’s no favouritism and abuse of power?”

“Mmhm,” Stiles said with a grin, then held up one finger as he counted them off. “Bobby Finstock, Adrian Harris, Chris Argent, my dad and Lydia. I’d have done Scott instead of Harris, but he’s kind of low on the totem pole and he’s got a heart of gold so he wouldn’t be much good in that kind of position, to be honest.”

Derek actually didn’t know what to say. He found it somewhat amazing that Stiles was so determined not to abuse his position as CEO that he had something set up specifically to ensure he _didn’t_  abuse it. And he worked for IT! On top of running the business, he also willingly worked for one of the _shittiest_  departments in the company!

He was having a hard time processing all this.

“So, this goes without saying but uh, don’t tell anyone about this.” Stiles motioned himself. “I like being with the rest of the staff, and I have fun in IT, so it’d be really great if you, like the other thirty-three people who know the truth, kept quiet about who I am.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a legal document about it,” Derek admitted.

“I do, I never have it signed.” He shrugged at Derek’s look. “Lydia had Legal draft it up but I like to think the people who find out are respectful enough of my privacy to just... leave me be. It’s worked so far, don’t break the streak.”

“I won’t,” Derek promised. “I’ll keep this to myself.”

“Cool. Anyway,” Stiles drummed his hands on the desk. “Now that we’ve got all that settled, question for you: do you like lobster?”

“What?” Derek asked.

“Lobster. It’s a simple question, Derek, do you like it or don’t you?”

“It’s—fine? I don’t—I haven’t really eaten much lobster in my life.”

“Perfect.” Stiles grinned. “Okay, so, to celebrate our reconciliation and your reporting line change to Chris Argent, and the fact that you hurt my feelings, we’re going out on Friday. Together. You and me. My treat, since I chose lobster and it’s expensive.” He winked. “Wear something nice. Not that you don’t wear nice things to work, but just—something different.”

Derek stared at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“If you accept, then yes, absolutely, I’m asking you on a date. If you do not accept, then no, it’s not a date, it’s just dinner between two bros who like lobster.” Stiles grinned at him, but Derek’s eyes found the other’s left hand, which was drumming nervously on the desk.

The CEO of his company had literally just asked him out on a date after Derek had yelled at him and called him incompetent and pretty much implied he was a waste of oxygen.

Whatever his father had done to raise him, he had raised a fucking stellar individual.

“I think a date is a little much, given what we’ve just had to resolve,” Derek said slowly, hating the way Stiles’ smile began to droop a little. “It’s not a no, it’s just—how about we go out for dinner on, say, Wednesday. We can go grab a steak, talk in a social setting, clear the air a little bit as friends. _Then_  we can go for lobster on Friday in a more date-like setting and play it by ear from there.”

“Oh.” Stiles thought about it for a second. “Yeah, okay. That seems, actually, that’s a good idea. Yeah. Let’s do that. But uh,” he tapped his fingers on the desk again, “maybe another outing before Wednesday? Wanna grab lunch today? It’s only half an hour, we can just go to a foodtruck, grab a bite, super chill. You can even talk to me about your project, since I’ve been avoiding Lydia every time she brings it up because I was still mad at you.”

Derek couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Let’s grab lunch.”

“Cool.” Stiles beamed. “Twelve-thirty?”

“Sounds good.”

“Awesome.” Stiles looked like he wanted to dance in his chair but was just barely managing to resist. He glanced at his computer and winced. “Fun as that’s going to be, I have a meeting in ten minutes that I am _not_  looking forward to.” He whined and rubbed both hands down his face. “Being in charge sucks.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Derek said, standing and reaching for the coffee, downing it since it really _was_  good coffee. “See you at lunch.”

“Later dude.”

Derek was never going to get used to hearing the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company say things like that, but he just shook his head with a smile and headed for the door. Before leaving, he paused and turned back to him.

“I really am sorry, you know. I’m not proud of what happened, and I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“Water under the bridge,” Stiles said with a smile. “But yeah, don’t do it again. I won’t tolerate anyone yelling at my staff.”

“Understood. Thank you for not firing me.”

“You’re welcome.” Stiles grinned and Derek exited the office.

He felt like he’d shot himself full of adrenaline by the time he reached the elevator, and thought maybe he shouldn’t have finished the coffee. He still couldn’t believe that, not only was he _not_  fired, but Stiles—IT Stiles! Chatterbox Stiles! _Frustratingly annoying at times_  Stiles!—was Mieczyslaw Stilinski. His mind was going to take a while to reconcile that one.

When he reached his floor again, he headed back for his office and Erica stood from her desk, wringing her hands together as he approached.

“So, is everything okay?”

Derek just walked up to her and pulled her into a hug. Erica didn’t move for a good few seconds, then awkwardly reached up to pat him on the back. He pulled away after a moment longer and smiled at her.

“I meant every word I said. You’re a great executive assistant, and next chance I get, I’m giving you a raise.”

“Wow, does Mr. Stilinski have a personality swapping machine up there, or...?”

Derek just rolled his eyes and shoved her lightly back towards her seat. “Just appreciating my amazing staff, Erica, that’s all.”

“I take it you’re not fired, then?”

“No, we just had a chat about my behaviour and I apologized to Stiles.” Wasn’t a lie, so he didn’t even feel bad about it.

“Really? That’s awesome!” She came to stand in the doorway, crossing her arms and beaming. “I’m glad you finally managed to get that out.”

“Me too,” he admitted. “And lesson learned. He should be back around the next time my computer fucks up, so expect his loud, obnoxious voice around any minute now.”

“Good. I missed him. He’s always good for a laugh.” Erica turned to head back to her desk and Derek just let out a small laugh, bringing his computer out of sleep mode and trying to catch up on his emails.

It wasn’t until a half hour before lunch, when Erica came into his office with a document for him to sign, that he suddenly realized something.

He was staring down at his pen, a gift from his father, then glanced at the photo of his family sitting on his desk, in which he was wearing a red and black plaid shirt, sporting a much less manicured beard, and happened to be holding an axe.

“Oh my God,” Derek blurted out, “I’m the fucking lumberjack!”

**END.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Hills Have Eyes (c) Fox Searchlight Pictures  
> He Was a Quiet Man (c) Quiet Man Productions and Neo Art & Logic  
> Silence of the Lambs (c) Orion Pictures  
> Twilight Zone (c) Rod Serling


End file.
